To the End
by cuppycake547
Summary: This is a New Moon fic where Bella is having a hard time dealing with the Cullen's abandonment. It's dark and contains graphic material that might not be suitable for all audiences. To the End deals with topics such as suicide and depression, so I warn the faint of heart ahead of time.


I can hear it, the thrumming and whirring of my blood as it mockingly pulsed through my veins. The blue highways are visible through my skin, so delicate and yet so weak. Looking past some of the more prominent veins, the glint of the few rays of sunshine that escaped my blinds are reflecting back from the ethereal blade. Lovingly, I bring the piece of steel to my wrist, lightly sashaying it across the smooth skin, leaving a path of coldness in its wake. Upon the knife, I glance upon an image that I cannot bear to see: a wraith, soulless and decrepit, with dead eyes and pale complexion. The knife sees all.

_And I can see you too… The true one…_

Forcing my eyes off of the unsettling sight, I skate over the state of my room. It's a nice room, shelves for the collection of books I once loved, a desk with a new laptop, and even a personal television, albeit ancient. It's empty though. The books stand untouched, slowly gathering a thin layer of dust from infrequent use. Blinds and curtains are wrenched over the window in a desperate attempt to bar the afternoon light from entering. The laptop and television remain unplugged and the lone mirror is draped in a sheet.

Upon further inspection of the room, one would hazard a guess that no one inhabited it for some time. Apart from some personal artifacts, it looked generic. The trash can near the doorway was full to the brim with hastily ripped photographs of smiling faces and posters. Shattered CDs reflected rainbows from what little light reached them.

Lazily bringing my attention back onto the knife, I stare transfixed as it dances up and down my wrist. I stop mid-stroke, however, when I catch sight of the creature hiding behind the reflection. Something about her eyes…

My sight falls upon a picture that escaped the great purge. There on the wall were three adolescent females, giggling at the photographer, their smiles being captured on film mid-shot. Where are they now? They gave me up, finally realizing that I was only a burden, not worthy of attention or love, slowly reverting into their own, busy lives. I vaguely recall the last phone call being some time ago… They really had given up.

_Of course they have. What's so special about you, eh, little girl? You can't expect them to put their lives on hold on account of you feeling down, worthless._

Something hurts, despite me not doing anything, almost as if there was a knife inside of me too. Ripping me out of the cloud of numbness, I curl into a fetal position on top of my unmade bed, the sheets in a state of disarray. The pain is crippling and I don't like it, not this type of uncontrollable and wild frenzy eating away at my insides. Burying my head into my pillow, I smother my nonsensical screams from disrupting the silence in the house.

The knife, my one true companion, lies unattended some inches away from me with an accusing silence.

How could I get so low?

Steeling my resolve, I reach from the safety of my ball for the blade. Clutching it near to my chest, I am drowning and the knife is my life preserver. Skimming it over the surface of the blue highways, I once again catch the eyes of the damned banshee. Chucking the cold piece of metal away from my cocoon, I hold my arm close to me in a vice-like grip, terrified of what almost came to pass. The cruel knife hits the far wall and clatters to the ground, effectively decimating the silence I once found solace in.

I am under the crashing waves now. Reaching upward towards the flickering sun, I feel myself sink deeper into the cold and unknown depths. The water is pressing down on me, leaving no air to breathe.

My whole body seizes up. I am the banshee. I am the wraith.

I am my own worst enemy.

Turning my head back into the darkness of the pillow, I know that I can't do anything right. I can't connect to others, can't fit in with my peers, and now I can't even kill myself right. Am I just supposed to remain an anonymous face in a sea of people? Is that my curse?

Although the blade was on the other side of the room, its call was beckoning to me, a siren to wayward sailors. Its coldness and apathy soothingly cooed to me, encompassing me in a numb embrace.

_I know how to help you, darling… I've seen how deep you hurt…_


End file.
